HahahahahaNOT

So! Earlier today I got a call from my realtor's assistant, whom I have not heard from in, oh, forever, and she's all, "Do you have your insurance yet? Because the closing's supposed to be next Friday, but the seller drives truck and is only in town on Thursdays, and he wants to close a day early."

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

This is the same seller who took weeks to paint two flippin' doors (so the house would pass the bank's inspection), and who hemmed and hawed and stalled about allowing me access so I could install the flood vents. The same seller who STILL has not cleaned all his crap out of the house. (Although, honestly, I'd be GLAD to deal with the closets full of clothes, as long as he's willing to also leave the washer and dryer. But he's gotta take the Refrigerator of Death*. I have to draw the line somewhere.)

And seriously, this guy can't take ONE FREAKIN' DAY off of work in order to make $(insert large amount of money here)?

So now I'm supposed to hurryhurryHURRRRRRRY and get my insurance?

I'm .......... hurrying ............. so .............. fast ..............



*The Refrigerator of Death is in the garage. I made the mistake of opening it up the first time I looked at the house, and discovered that something had evidently crawled up inside it and gone to Jeezus quite some time ago. I'll not forget that smell anytime soon.

Dear Staples Office Supply Store:

Dear Staples:


Imagine my surprise when I stopped by after work last night to pick up some copy paper for the office and discovered that ...... well ....... you no longer sell copy paper.


It's true! After killing off the local competitors and outlasting Office Depot, you are now the ONLY office supply store in the area, and you have made the decision to STOP SELLING COPY PAPER.


The cashier advised me that she was taking a lot of sh*t for this decision that was made by corporate, and I believe her. She said they were still selling the "higher quality", i.e., more expensive, copy paper in the stores, just not the regular, everyday stuff. She told me that I would need to go online to order regular, everyday copy paper from now on, and there's just one little problem with that:


I'm sure that mine is not the only office where nobody realizes we're out of copy paper, until we're OUT OF COPY PAPER. You know how it goes: The copier starts flashing the "paper out" indicator, so you open up the cabinet to grab another ream, and ....... whoops! We're out of copy paper. Cue Staples run.


In other words, when I go to Staples for copy paper, I need copy paper right now. I do not have time to order online and wait two days for delivery.


So! Last night I ended up at Walmart. Where they sell copy paper. The cheap stuff. By the case. You know, the stuff my office uses. Thanks, Walmart!

Dear Staples: You suck.

Oh halp!

The library just called - three of the books that I had on reserve have come in.

This always happens! I put a bunch of books on reserve, books that have varying "wait" times, and they all come in at once, and then it's a mad scramble to try to get them all read before they're due back at the library, and they're usually non-renewable because they're in demand.

*sigh*

In other news, the Michael Jackson memorial service is today. Am I the only one wondering when they'll start selling off pieces of the body? I'm totally serious here. It would not surprise me at all.

Oh, and I'm still waiting to hear back from my insurance agent on the whole flood vent thing. I went ahead and had the vents installed (and you don't even want to know what a circus that was), and now, once again, I am having problems getting a person who is GOING TO MAKE MONEY OFF OF ME to get off of dead center and get their job done. I shit you not, every single person I've had to deal with in this whole house-buying carnival, from the realtor to his assistants to the seller to the mortgage people to the insurance agent, have dragged their feet every f*cking step of the way, regardless of the fact that NONE OF THEM ARE GETTING PAID until this deal is done.

*sigh*

Wow, I guess I'm just a wee bit cranky today. Sorry about that!

I can haz lawnmower?

Yes! I can haz!

Say hello to my little friend:






This is an Ariens, self-propelled, which I got off Craigslist for seventy-five bucks.


And I can even start it all by myself!


Now I just have to close on the house .....

Three Months

Number of cigarettes I would have smoked between April 3 and today, had I not stopped smoking: 2,700


Money saved to date: $481.50


Observation: People who never smoked do not think it's a big deal that you quit. People who used to smoke, and quit themselves, have evidently forgotten how blessed hard it is to quit, and do not think it's a big deal that you quit. Active smokers are threatened that you quit and stay away from you. In short, don't expect any kudos. From anybody. Which kind of sucks.


I sometimes dream that I'm smoking. In my dreams I'm driving in the car, and I look down and there's a lit cigarette in my hand, and the ashtray is full of butts. And in my dream, I'm all, "Oh nooooo! When did I start smoking again? Whyyyyyyyyy?"


And that's all I'm gonna say about dreams. Sorry about that brief lapse into dream analysis.



So! One-quarter of a year, smoke-free. Dear jeezus, I hope it gets easier.

Not in a billion years

From The Associated Press:

"Despite a fractured collarbone, a teenage girl clung to the wreckage of a plane for more than 13 hours before rescuers found her floating in the Indian Ocean, authorities said. The only known survivor of the crash, she was being flown back to Paris on Wednesday night."

Um, hello ....... flown back to Paris?

Peeps, if I was the only survivor of a plane crash that killed 152 other people, and then I had to cling to wreckage for 13 f*cking hours waiting for help, you had better believe that I would never, ever, ever get on a plane again. Don't talk to me about how it's safer than traveling by car, what are the odds it would happen twice, blah blah blah, I would never, ever fly again. I probably wouldn't even be able to look at a picture of a plane, let alone fly on one.

Jeezus.

Say WHAT?

I was listening to an interview on the radio last night, and this guy was talking about Sarah Palin's credentials (!), and he mentioned her "bona fides". Except he pronounced it "bona fee-dees", and I was all, WHAT??? Hahahahahaha! It's "bona fydes", jerk, not "bona fee-dees"!

But then I remembered how, for the longest time, I thought that "impotent" was pronounced "im-PO-tent". Ooops. And honestly, I'm STILL not sure where the emphasis goes on "intestate".

So what say you? "Bona fee-dees"? or "Bona fydes"? And are there any words that you butchered for an embarrassingly long time (see impotent) before realizing you were saying it wrong?

NOT the feel-good movie of the year .....

...... Slumdog Millionaire, that is.



I'm not really sure why I thought this was going to be a happy-go-lucky, song-and-dance movie. Maybe all those cute Indian kids at all the premieres.



Don't worry, I'm not going to reveal the ending, because I never made it that far. Actually, I didn't get much past the scene where the guy is being tortured by having a car battery wired to his toes.



Call me a wimp.

Random stuff from the weekend

At 4 a.m. Saturday, I was awakened by yelling from downstairs. The downstairs guy's girlfriend was bitching him out, LOUDLY, because he stole money from her purse. And I would have liked nothing more than to have trotted downstairs and said to the loudmouthed girl, "Honey, here's an idea! How about if you just LEAVE?" Every single time she comes over, all she does is yell, so I'm not really clear on why she keeps coming around.

Then, at 10 a.m. Saturday, I was awakened again when thugs from the local rent-to-own outlet tried to break down the downstairs guy's door, and then when he finally opened the door, they threatened (LOUDLY) to break his kneecaps if he didn't pay up on what he owed.

In my opinion, renting f*cking furniture is not a good idea. It never ends well.

There are currently catalpa cuttings rooting on my windowsill! That may not end well, either, but heck, it's gonna be at LEAST ten years before they're big enough to make a mess of my yard, so I'm not gonna worry about it now.

I once again got sucked into watching "Working Girl" this weekend. It's just one of those movies with an odd force field around it; if I happen across it while changing channels, I end up watching the whole darn thing. And I am starting to realize that the reason I love that movie so much is because I AM Tess. I pulled myself up and out of the secretarial pool by sheer force of will.

When the movie first came out, I had just put an illustrious career in burger flipping behind me and had started my current job. It was my DREAM to move up, like Tess, and become something more.

And while I'm still working for the same company, my job (and my salary) is now so much more than it was back then. I did it. Wheeeeee!

There is a bathroom rug that dare not speak its name residing in a Boscov's bag in my kitchen right now. I bought the rug for - Shhhhhhh! - the new place. Right now, waiting for closing, the - shhhhhhhh! - new place is taking on almost a mythical quality, like something that's not quite real.


There! was! a! firefly! in the backyard Saturday night! Woot!


There are a bunch of crows in the neighborhood that are driving me insane. Every single time one of the cats goes into the backyard, those goddam crows start cawing and cawing and CAWING and it's driving me nuts. Sometimes they'll get all worked up when the cats are INSIDE, so I guess it's not just my cats that are driving them bonkers. Sunday afternoon I was out in the backyard when they started up their cacophony, so I walked under the maple tree they were hanging out in to have a little heart-to-heart with the noisy bastards, and I shit you not, one of them grabbed a good-sized twig from the tree and chucked it at me. I swear, that bird grabbed a branch and THREW it at me.

Time to buy a BB gun.

I'm just not getting this. At all.

Okay, so Michael Jackson died yesterday, and all over the blogs, people are all, like, oh boohoohoo!! Michael's dead! So sad! He was a genius! Gone before his time!

Um, hello? The guy was a pedophile who like to "adopt" little boys and stick his hands down their underwear. And before anybody can jump in here and say, "They never proved it!" Um, honey? The reason "they" never "proved" it is because he paid off his victims.

Any grown man (and I use that term loosely, considering the subject matter) who invites prepubescent boys to live with him and sleep in the same bed with him is not someone deserving of respect. And I'm not even going to get into what I think about those boys' parents.

Yes, the guy was brilliant. Yes, he made some absolutely unforgettable music. Man in the Mirror was a personal favorite of mine.

But he was also a sick bastard.

In my opinion.

Supersize Me

So, I went to McDonald's for lunch yesterday as a special treat*. And yes, I know EXACTLY what it says about me that I consider McDonald's a "treat". Put it this way, until I quit smoking, I considered a cigarette a "treat", as well. I know, I KNOW.



So! I ordered a burger, and fries, and because I noticed a sign stating that all size sodas were a buck, I ordered a large, natch.



And that soda was huge. HUUUUUUGE. I actually went back to the office and showed my soda around, saying, "Look how big this freakin' soda is! I have to hold it with both hands!" Yeah, like THAT wasn't annoying. And I'm sure my co-workers were all, like, "what, she's never gone to McDonald's before?" Sorry to make you cringe, guys. I don't get out much.



But ANYWAY, I ordered a diet soda, cause I always drink diet soda. But if that had been a regular soda, I can't even imagine how many calories it would have had in it. Like, some unreal percentage of your recommended daily calories, I'm sure. I'll bet that soda, had it been non-diet, would have had as many calories in it as the burger and fries combined.


And that's why everybody's fat. The end.




*and I was "treating" myself because something pretty awesome may have happened yesterday morning. I can't really talk about it yet, lest I jinx it, but it may be pretty damn cool. Yay!

What in the hell IS that?!

I saw this ..... thing ..... down by the creek the other night. The plant itself is actually more of a tree, easily thirty feet tall, with these ginormous blooms in clusters. Each bloom in the cluster is around an inch-and-a-half across.

I mean, come on, it's GORGEOUS ....... but what in the hell IS it?

Orange

Last Saturday, we got so much rain I thought I was gonna drown unloading the groceries from the car. It rained, and rained, and rained, all day. When I woke up on Sunday the sky was still menacing and showers were predicted, but I decided to head out anyway. And it turned out that orange was on display.

Who knew there were so many shades of orange?

I've spent more time agonizing over a hangnail

So! I admit it, I watched last night's Very Special Episode of Jon & Kate + Eight, wherein Jon and Kate reveal that they're divorcing. BIG surprise there, eh?



And Kate's going on and on about the breakdown of the marriage, and she said something like, "and I had half a day where I let myself fall apart and hyperventilate", and then she got a good night's sleep and decided to get a divorce.



And I thought, oh honey, I've spent half a day falling apart and hyperventilating over a CAR REPAIR, and that's all you could spare for dissolution of your marriage?



But anyway, what's really driving me crazy about the show is all the product placement. First it was Emeril, then it was those motorcycle dudes, which honestly, I did not watch much of either of those episodes, because I do not like Emeril OR the motorcycle dudes, and last night it was the flippin' goddamn playhouses, which if anyone had said "Crazy House" or whatever the hell they were called ONE MORE TIME my head would have exploded. I would lovelovelove to know how much those playhouses actually cost, because I'll bet they're pretty pricey. And those kids got FOUR. Then again, Mom and Dad are splitting up, so it's time to haul out the really EXPENSIVE toys. Paid for by the show, of course. And I'm sure the Crazy House people gave them a bit fat discount, seeing as how their product was mentioned about every three seconds during last night's show.



Oh! And Kate's outfit when she was on the Loveseat of Confession? Did anyone besides me think it was a little inappropriate to wear a push-up, strapless top to emphasize the boobage? No? Just me? Okay then.



Frankly, I always leaned a little bit toward Jon's side. But after last night, I think they're BOTH kind of self-absorbed jerks. I just feel for those poor kids.

Too much of a good thing

Bacon-wrapped pork tenderloin sounded good in theory, but in practice?



Too much pig.

The Runt Takes Dumps

..... right in the middle of the front yard, in front of passersby and any neighbors who may be outside at the time. Any other cat I've ever had has chosen to do their bizness out of sight of people, but not The Runt. He marches right to the middle of the front yard, like he's getting ready to give a freakin' speech or something, and goes to town. Actually, I was kind of hoping he'd do it when the Little League parade passed by a couple of months ago, because I think it'd be really funny to watch a bunch of little boys laugh themselves silly over a cat taking a dump in plain view.

The other night I was rinsing out a bucket with the garden hose, and discovered that The Runt loooooves to chase the hose water around. If you put a finger over the water to make it squirt really far, he'll chase that spray around all day long. And he doesn't even bitch when he accidentally gets squirted right in the head - he just shakes it off and keeps chasing.

Oh, and his other current favorite toy is a bag of rocks. That's right. I discovered this when I was hauling stuff out to the yard for the big sale and dropped a zip-lock baggie with some jewelry in it. He pick that sucker up in his mouth and carried it around, then batted it back and forth, then laid on it and rolled around. So I took another zip-lock and put some little pieces of gravel in it for weight, and that's his new favorite toy. I think he thinks it's some kind of weird mouse or something.

I don't begin to pretend to understand this cat, but I think he's pretty cool.

Not that I'm paranoid, but ......

After work tonight I'm going to look at a used lawnmower that was advertised on Craigslist.

If I don't show up here again, you all know what happened ..........

Recently Read

As usual, go ahead and skip this one if you want to.

Cavedweller by Dorothy Allison - Novel about a rock singer who returns to her hometown. I got about three-quarters of the way through before I realized I'd read it before, so obviously, it didn't make much of an impression, but it was still a good time-kill novel, i.e., when you don't have anything else to read and are too lazy busy to get to the library.


The Great Husband Hunt by Laurie Graham - Novel about a woman who was an obnoxious jerk. Blerrkk. (Sorry, Ms. Graham. It's just that the character was so unlikeable, it made me not like the book. And I know it was done for comic effect, but still ....... )


Snow Angels by Stewart O'Nan - Novel about the deaths of a daughter and her mother. O'Nan is always good.


Bound South by Susan Rebecca White - Novel about Southern women - meh.


So Brave, Young and Handsome by Leif Enger - This was a western, which I don't usually read, but I like this author, and the book was pretty good.


The Way the Crow Flies by Ann Marie MacDonald - Novel about a murder in a small Canadian air force town in the sixties - The beginning is good, and the ending has a real twist, but the middle was just so-so. I feel like it needed an editor willing to cut. A lot. 800 pages, for this particular book, was about 300 too many.


Now in November by Josephine Johnson - Originally published in 1934, this novel by a twenty-four-year-old won the Pulitzer Prize for fiction. Good book.


It Ain't All About the Cookin' by Paula Deen - Food Network chef's memoir - interesting. I've tried a couple of her recipes and they weren't all that great, but the book was okay.


Just After Sunset by Stephen King - Short stories, most of which were published elsewhere previously. I still think Stephen King is one of the best contemporary writers, although his early work is much stronger than his newer stuff. I just keep wishing he'd try a non-"horror genre" book, because I think it could be excellent.


Girlbomb by Janice Erlbaum - Memoir about an NYC teenager who becomes homeless - Interesting, and also very funny, believe it or not.


Monkeys by Susan Minot - Short novel about the breakdown of a New England family - Odd, but kind of interesting, and a quick read.


The Invisible Wall by Harry Bernstein - Memoir about a little boy growing up poor in England in the early 1900s - If you liked "Angela's Ashes", you'll like this one.


Tiger, Tiger by Galaxy Craze - Yet another coming-of-age novel - So-so.


The Stone Diaries by Carol Shields - See post below. Do not put photos in a novel. Please.




You know, it's a good thing I have this blog, because I'm having a hard time remembering these books, not that long after I read them. But I'm a little gun-shy about hitting publish, now that I know that some authors, well, google themselves and pop in on sites that review them. On the other hand, it's just a blog. So whatevs.

Is it just me?

So, I'm reading this novel (The Stone Diaries by Carol Shields), and I get to the middle of the book, and there's a section of .......... photos. Of the people in the book. Except the book is a NOVEL. Which means that the people are made up. Which means that unless someone has come up with some technology that somehow photographs FICTIONAL PEOPLE, the author or her publisher took a bunch of random photos of people and stuck them in the book and said, "This one's Mercy, and this one's Cuyler, and ........ "

And for reasons I can't quite figure out, I am so put off by this that now I don't even want to finish the damn book. The photos of, well, whoever they are look NOTHING like I pictured the people in the book to look like, and I just don't understand the whole concept of photos of FICTIONAL PEOPLE. Do I need to say again that the characters are FICTIONAL??? No? I didn't think so.

Is it just me, or is this really strange? Or is it just me who's strange?

It costs HOW MUCH for flood insurance?!?!

Holy shit, you guys. A THOUSAND BUCKS A YEAR for flippin' flood insurance.

I got that number and then I died.

And then I remembered that I pay, like, eight hundred bucks a year for car insurance, so what's the big deal, right?

And then I was all, like, WHY am I paying eight hundred bucks a year to insure a paid-off, nine-year-old car?!

So then I was on the phone to my insurance agent for, like, the nine BILLIONTH time in the last couple of weeks, getting my car insurance reduced.

And then I called some other agents to get some competing prices on the flood insurance.

And everybody's talking about "flood vents", and how they can reduce your premium, but I guess these vents are actually kind of mythical, like unicorns, because everybody's heard of them, but no one's actually, you know, SEEN one, or knows how to install one, or knows anyone who might know how to install one, or ....... and all the agents are, like, "go to the FEMA website", and I'm all, like, "F*ck you! YOU go to the FEMA website, you lazy sonofabitch!" Yeah, not really, just in my head.

Holy shit, dudes.


Updated to add: Why yes, yes I DO know how to use google, you wiseasses. The problem was finding the exact technical specs for the vents, to meet both NFIP and local/State codes. I finally called my insurance agent AGAIN (come on, Ed, you know you love me!), and he is going to get ahold of what the underwriters use to determine which vents meet requirements.

This is hard! Waaaaaa.

Notes from a yard sale

Wear sunscreen. When the weatherman calls for cloudy skies and possible showers, HE IS LYING. And you will wake up the next morning looking like a lobster.

Nobody buys record albums. Or books. Or framed frickin' photography, even when you are selling it for less than they could buy the damned FRAME for. Oh, the indignity.

People WILL buy useless knick-knacks and assorted crap. By the boatload. I could've sold twenty times the amount of Disney World souvenirs, decks of playing cards, and opened packages of generic greeting cards (I'm not even kidding here) that I had on hand.

When you have only sold a few Breyer's horse models, and the day's half over, and someone comes along and offers to buy the entire remaining lot, thank your lucky stars and grab the cash.

If you don't have any "big ticket" items, i.e., furniture, electronics, etc., it is still possible to make over a hundred bucks. One knick-knack at a time.

If you sell a Dane Cook* CD to a kid who looks to be about 10, tell him not to tell his mom where he got it.

There are a lot of really strange people out there. Who drive cars. Frankly, I was a little surprised that some of these people had driver's licenses.

And people will try to bargain you down, no matter how ridiculously low the price already is. If you're asking twenty-five cents for a skirt with the tags still on it? They'll ask if you'll take a dime. Sheesh.

All in all, it's not a bad way to spend a day. Just be prepared to load up your car with the remains of the crap and haul it to the thrift store afterwards. And forget about selling those old record albums.



*No, I do not like Dane Cook - someone gave me the CD. Honest.

Yard Sale!

It looks like the yard sale is a go for tomorrow. The weatherman keeps switching up the forecast, but right now it looks like the morning, at least, may be rain-free, so I'm going to give it a shot.

I have got a shed FULL of crap to sell; I've spent hours and hours sorting through my stuff. All that photography that I framed and matted (and tried and failed to sell at craft shows)? It's going. The Breyer's horse models that I collected as a kid back in the seventies? Three bucks a pop. Boxes and boxes of books? See ya!

If I make enough for a good used lawnmower, I'll be thrilled.

Wish me luck! And if you find yourself in the beautiful Southern Tier of upstate New York tomorrow, feel free to stop by - it's gonna be bargain city!

Over my dead f*cking body

Anybody remember last month's drama? Wherein my sister Ditzy, having decided that she is tired of actually, you know, working for a living like the rest of us wage slaves and/or letting a Sugar Daddy support her, chose to hit up my soon-to-be-85, Alzheimer's-inflicted mother for money?

Well, my sister Texas and I banded together and stopped that particular train from leaving the station, knowing that the first request for money-from-Mom would not be the last, and would, in fact, be just the tip of that particularly nasty iceberg. And Texas, my sister Alabama, and my brother A., all wrote out generous checks to Ditzy to help the poor gal *cough* out.

Problem solved, right?

Wrong.

Yesterday I received an email from Ditzy herself, informing me that Texas and I may want to "reconsider our decision", in light of the fact that Ooooops! The four grand my sisters and brother GAVE HER is not enough, and she wants more.

Oh honey. I haven't had a cigarette in over two months, and I WILL cut a bitch (metaphorically, of course) if this does not stop.

No means no. Today, tomorrow, next week, next year.

No.

Can I have a moment to MYSELF, please?

Last Saturday, Little Girl was enjoying a peaceful afternoon, lounging on my her beach towel.

Poor Little Girl hadn't gotten to enjoy her peace and quiet for very long when her brother came around:

What's a brother for, if not to pounce on you and bug the crap out of you:

Some flailing paws were exchanged, and pretty soon they were rolling off the towel and onto the grass:



So much for peace and quiet.

Breaking News!

The ospreys have hatched!


Click here for the osprey cam at the Montezuma National Wildlife Refuge!


Such excitement!


I'm a nerd.

Neeerrrrrrddddddddd.

I'm pretty sure I'm going to hell for this*

When I read about today's explosion at a Slim Jim plant, I chuckled. I mean, COME ON!! Explosion at the Slim Jim plant? Heeeeee ......

And then when I read further, where an official was describing the "toxic cloud on and around the plant"? HAHAHAHAHAHA .......

I'm gonna burn.



*if, you know, I believed in that stuff.

A little unsolicited advice

I was talking to a contractor a while back about getting a written estimate of the repair costs for Moldy House. So that I could, you know, GET THE HELL OUT OF THAT DEAL OMFG. And I offered to email the inspection report to the contractor, and I asked him for his email address, and he started spelling it out, a letter at a time, you know, "J like in Jeep", and this was his email address:


johnsluvr

(add @blahblah.blah) (blogger keeps trying to make this into an ACTUAL email address, with a link and everything - cut it OUT, blogger!)

His email address is, basically, "johnsluvr".


And my first thought was, ewwwwwwwwww. TMI! TMI!



I don't care if this dude is gay. I really, really don't. I was just, um, unnerved that he would use an email address like that for his professional work.



I mean, the email address that I use for this blog, rockycat24, is kind of silly. I made it up on the spur of the moment, in a hurry, and really, it's just a blog email, so who cares?



But my work email address is totally boring and professional, which is as it should be, in my humble opinion. I mean, if I have to ask a big client to email some info to me, I don't want to have to ask him to send it to loves2drinkshots at blahblah.blah.


First off, I don't even like drinking shots. Blech. And second, what kind of an impression does it give when your work email is something totally ridiculous and way too revealing?


It gives the impression that you're not a professional. Which is NOT the look you're going for.





Disclaimer: I may be just a tad over-reacting here, but at the time I was dealing with this dude, I was FREAKING OUT about the (old, failed) house deal, and the realtor's assistant was being a pain in the ass, and now I have to deal with some dude whose work email is johnsluvr? Nooooo.

Harmonic Convergence

On Friday night, I went to a party and was introduced to a woman who grew up on the street where my house is.

She told me about how all the kids sled and toboggan on the town easement that runs behind the houses. She told me about how she used to babysit for the kids who used to live in my house, and about the time the kids lit the curtains on fire (!) and she got in trouble for putting out the fire herself instead of calling the fire department (there was no 911 back in those days). She told me about what a peaceful neighborhood it was, and how much fun it was to grow up there, with the park and the creek at the end of the street.

I think I'm gonna like it there.

Oh, and just because these guys haven't been getting enough blog time lately:





There are plenty of napping options on the deck, but this toweled-covered chair has obtained Favorite status. They'll cram into it together rather than nap somewhere else.

I will gladly pay you Tuesday .....

.......for a hamburger today.


I had to go fill out the mortgage info yesterday for the new house. And my mortgage dude, whom I love, was going through the various financing options with me. He showed me an option whereby I would put 4K less down, pay $17.00 more a month, and take the 4K and sock it back into the mortgage once I closed, thereby shortening the life of the mortgage by four years.

And I know it probably made sense, and I know I probably should have done it, but you know what? I just didn't feel comfortable with it, I did not want to pay an extra seventeen bucks a month, and I turned it down.

Yeah, there's a reason I didn't go into accounting.

Oh, and on my way there, the driver's window in the car decided to stop working. Woot!

Oh! Oh! And did you know that when you apply for an FHA mortgage, they run your name past the Department of Homeland Security to make sure you're not on the terrorist watch list? No shit. Which makes me wonder how that asshat down south managed to get all those weapons before he showed up at the recruiting center and opened fire. I mean, he MUST have been on the list, right? And yet he got the guns anyway.

So, now I've done my part. Time to let the moneylenders get to work. And I sure hope that they hurry.

Box of bones

I have an odd habit of rescuing weird stuff from thrift stores. So when I was at the flea market a couple of weeks ago and saw a box of bones, well, let's just say it had to come home with me.







Technically, these are antlers. Lots of them. I got the whole box for ten bucks, which may or may not be a deal; I'm not familiar with current fluctuations in the deer antler market.


I don't know what I'm going to do with them, but they're home with me now. And soon they'll be going to my new home. The one for which I am signing the financing paperwork this afternoon. I can't believe I just typed that; I can't believe it's true.

I'm going to own a home.

(And I'm going to decorate it with bones. Howdy, new neighbors! Pleased to meetcha!)

Update

They signed the contract.

All systems are go.

I've never been so scared in my entire life.

Time to hold that yard sale! Pronto!

Two months

I quit smoking two months ago today.

Honestly, there are STILL some moments when I want a cigarette more than anything else in the world. This past week, especially, has not been kind to my stop-smoking efforts. However, I persevere. The last time I smoked a cigarette was on April 2.

Number of cigarettes I would have smoked between then and now, had I still been smoking: 1800.

Amount of money saved to date: $321.00.

Not having to worry that my "quit date" will be the day my doctor tells me I have lung cancer: Priceless.

The backyard

'

Supposedly, the sellers are going to be at the realtor's office at 2 p.m. today to sign off on the deal. Then the sellers have to get an elevation shot to find out how much insurance I am going to need (all depends on if the house is up out of the 100-year flood zone or not.). (I'm making the sellers pay for this. Because I can.)

'

Then I have to get my financial info and my application fee over to the mortgage dude. And then? Umm ....... not sure. I've never done this before and have no idea of the sequence of events, even the little stuff like how and when to get the water and sewer switched into my name. (I'm assuming that happens the day of the closing, but honestly? YA GOT ME.)

'

Yikes .......

Under Pressure

So! On Friday night, after discovering that I had eight weeks to find a house I liked, make an offer, have the offer accepted, go through closing, and move, I looked at some houses.

I found one that I liked, but told my realtor (hereinafter referred to as Judas) that I would have to have my structural guy (i.e., my boss) take a look at it before I would make any offer at all.

On Saturday, my boss and I went out and did a thorough inspection. I was ready to make an offer; however, there was going to be an Open House on Sunday, and I decided to wait and see if any offers came in via the Open House before I put in my own bid, as I could not afford to go in at the full listing price.

On Sunday I spied on the Open House. I parked down the street and watched to see how many people showed up. There were plenty of people, but only a couple who stayed long enough to show any real interest in the place. So when Judas (my realtor) called the listing agent on Monday morning and the listing agent told him they'd had "plenty of offers", we knew it was probably bullshit, and I went in low.

The sellers countered my offer. I countered back. We may have a deal. My heart may stop.



Oh, and see all that baby shrubbery in front of the house? When I looked at it on Friday night, that planting area was full of huge, dead bushes. When I went back on Saturday, the landscaper was pulling out of the driveway, and Voila! Brand new baby shrubbery.

I don't know why; I don't understand .....

...... why they sold me down the river.

Last night, I had to stop at my realtor's office to sign a release in order to get back my $1,000.00 deposit on the failed Tharp St. deal. My realtor came down the hall and said, "We've got to talk." Oh, crap, I thought, and said, "What's up?"

Here's the story - The apartment building that I live in has been up for sale for over a year, and my realtor, the one who is showing me houses, is the listing agent for the apartment building. I knew that when I called this realtor and asked him to show me houses; as a matter of fact, he asked if I wanted to buy the apartment building. (Um, no.)

A few weeks ago, when I had put in an offer on Tharp St., he had a potential buyer for the apartment building who was looking for an owner-occupy; i.e., she wanted to buy the building, live in one of the units,and rent out the others.

"That's perfect!", my realtor told her. "I happen to know that one of the tenants in this building is moving out, and you can take over her apartment!"

You can see where this is going, right? The Tharp St. deal fell through disastrously, the potential buyer bought the apartment building, and in a few days I am going to be receiving an eviction notice informing me that as of August 1, I have no place to live.

What. A. Week.

While I was gone .......

....... the irises have started to bloom, the columbines are going nuts, and the peonies are just about ready to pop. I was down in the gardens last night, puttering around, pulling weeds, and it felt so damn good to be outside for a little bit, instead of in bed, or on the couch, or at the doctor's office, or in line at the pharmacy.

Final (for now) diagnosis? "Viral infection of unknown origin". The nurse called this morning to see how I was doing, and she was relieved that I had gotten my voice back, although a little dismayed that the only way I can eat is to wait for the Vicodin to kick in. She laughed a little and said, "you know, when you were in here on Wednesday, it looked so bad that the doctor and I were afraid you were going to end up in the hospital!"

Ha, ha ........ ha? Sorry, I'm still a little ways away from being able to laugh about the fact that my throat swelled to the point that it was almost totally shut before the steroids stepped up to the plate, but then again ....... excellent blog fodder, no? Hey, SOMETHING good's gotta come out of this whole thing, right?

So! I pick up another Vicodin prescription tonight, and hopefully get some hanging baskets done this weekend. And some weeding. And maybe a get a little sunshine in the backyard - it just feels good to be somewhat recovered. And hopefully this will be the end of this grisly little story.

I was talking to my sister Texas last night, and I was wondering what on earth people did when they got sick back in the 1800s, back before antibiotics and steroids and all that good stuff. And she said, simply, "They died."

Point taken, sis. Point taken.

Call me Ah-nold

So! I took my first dose of Vicodin on Tuesday night, with great hopes of finally easing the pain and being able to do fun stuff like ...... oh, I don't know ...... how about SWALLOW? And drink water? I was so thirsty. And maybe even sleep without waking up choking?

Nope. The Vicodin did nothing. NOTHING. No easing of the pain, no helping with the sleep, no nothing.

So! I called the doctor's office Wednesday morning, which was an interesting conversation, because by then, my throat was so swollen that I sounded like a deaf drunk with a severe speech impediment.

They had me come in and they shot me up with steroids, in a last-ditch effort to get the swelling to stop increasing, and gave me a prescription for steroid pills. Then they yanked a whole bunch of blood out of me for testing, and told me to double the Vicodin dose.



So I got home last night, dosed myself with antibiotics and steroids and a double dose of Vicodin, and about half an hour later .......... relief. Finally, my throat stopped aching, enough so that I could actually get some water down. And some food! And about two liters of 7-Up, because while normally I don't like 7-Up, last night it tasted like heaven.



So we go from here. Wait for the test results, and wait to see if the steroids can bring the swelling down. And right here is one thing I hate about doctors: While I was in the exam room yesterday, waiting for the lab paperwork, I could hear the doctor and the nurse discussing my case in the hall. I couldn't hear everything, but I was picking up the key words, like "swelling increasing" and "steroids" and "no history of tonsillitis". And then I picked up a few more interesting words, words like "x-ray" and "tumor" and "cat scan".



Dear medical professionals: Your patients are not deaf. Well, most of them, anyway. If you want to discuss the scarier aspects of their cases, that's fine, but for the love of Pete, DO NOT DO IT WITHIN THEIR RANGE OF HEARING. Unless and until you are ready to discuss something with the patient, DO NOT discuss it in the hallway right outside of their room. That is all.



Sheesh.

..... survey SAYS! ......

....... Ear infection, which had miraculously started to clear itself up, but not before inviting my tonsils (tonsillitis) along to the party, along with some nearby lymph nodes. Oh, and there's possibly a smattering of strep, because, well .... WHY THE HELL NOT, while we're at it? Although the official strep results won't be in for a day or two.

And the doctor was very nice, even though he wasn't my usual doctor and only crammed me into his schedule out of pity. And he wrote me a prescription for antibiotics, and when I told him that taking Advil at two to three times (what can I say? it HURTS) the recommended dose wasn't really denting the pain, he also gave me a prescription for Vicodin.

And I've never had Vicodin before, so I didn't understand until reading the label (in the Wal-Mart parking lot, natch, 'cause I am KLASSAY) that Vicodin is actually Hydrocodone, and, wait a minute ........ isn't Hydrocodone the stuff that all the trailer-trash gets hooked on?

Great ....... I'm about to become a drug addict. HALP!

Although I guess I'm not all that far from trailer trash already, being that I was dosing myself IN THE WAL-MART PARKING LOT. Hey, I've waited four f*cking days for a little relief, and I wasn't going to wait one minute longer, not if I could help it. Trailer park, here I come.

Oh {ouch} hai!

Just in time for the holiday weekend, and just after my doctor's office closed on Friday afternoon, I picked up a massive ear infection. My ear is killing me, and every time I swallow it feels like somebody's twisting a hot poker in there. The side of my neck is swollen, my jaw hurts, and last night, every time I fell asleep, I woke up choking.

Good times! How was your weekend?

It was a 455 Rocket - Biggest Block Alive

My first car, that is. I got it for my high school graduation, when I was 17. A 1975 Hurst Olds, with a 455 engine, a dual-gate (his-n-hers) shifter, and t-tops.

My dad gave all of us kids cars when we graduated high school (and there were six of us!). They were not brand-new cars, but good used cars. My dad loved cars, loved to work on cars, and owned several pretty special ones over the years. I remember the Lincoln Continental he had with the clamshell doors (also known as suicide doors). We drove up to Misquamicut, Rhode Island one year on vacation so that he could have the wiring re-done. He also had a 1970 Olds 442, which I am sad to say I totalled. He had it rebuilt, and then my brother-in-law totalled it, and that was the end of that classic car. He had a old Cord at one point, but I don't remember that one.

I have to admit that when it came time for me to pick out a car for graduation, I knew very little about cars, even after all those years watching my dad work on his. My dad had set a budget of $2,500.00 (this was back in 1980, keep in mind), and he decided to help me out with car selection. Keep in mind that the man liked muscle cars. His first pick was a used Camaro, but I didn't like it. Then, my dad heard about a guy who had a Hurst Olds for sale. This guy was a regular patron of the bar my dad owned at the time. My dad took me to the bar one afternoon to have a look at the car, and the owner offered a test drive. I got behind the wheel, started out of the parking lot, lightly touched the gas, accidentally burned rubber, and fell in love. Looking back, I kind of have to question the wisdom of giving a car like that to a seventeen-year-old idiot, but ...... Thanks, Dad!

I learned a lot from that car. I learned about how cars can be guy-magnets, about how to beat the pants off the boys in street races (when you've got a 455 under the hood, it basically means just hitting the gas and keeping your foot down), about cars in general. I learned that when you've got a lot of power to control, you have to be careful. I loved that car. I drove that car until, if you lifted up the floor mats, you could see the open road beneath your feet. I drove it until it was only firing on 6 of 8 cylinders (and doing just fine). I drove it until you could put your fist through the rust spots in the side panels. I drove it until the engine finally started blowing great clouds of blue smoke, and then I sold it for 200 bucks. It broke my heart to sell that car.

All the cars I've had since have been "just cars". Nothing special about them. I miss that Olds.

Last night on American Idol

Yeah, yeah, I know ..... honestly, I wasn't REALLY watching it, it was just ... kind of ... on.

And my ears sort of perked up when they announced that Rod Stewart was going to be on next, because, honestly? I thought to myself, "Sweet jesus, he's gotta be in his seventies by now. This should be interesting."

And then he came on and I was wrong, because evidently, he's a lot closer to NINETY than he is to seventy. Holy shit, Rod, get that hip replacement already - you're shuffling around the stage like my dead grandpa. Oh, and you might want to lose the plaid jacket - I'm just sayin'.

I'm not surprised that Adam lost - by the second song of Tuesday's show, when he busted out the jazz hands, even I was getting sick of him, and I have a fairly high tolerance for show-biz histrionics.

Oh, and did anybody catch the pilot for "Glee"? Here's the thing that I didn't get - the kids signed up for the club, they went in and started auditioning, and every single one of them had a voice ready for Broadway. I mean, come on! If you've ever actually attended school choir auditions, you know that it's a lot like the auditions they show on American Idol - for every person who can actually SING, there's another ninety-nine who couldn't carry a tune in a bucket.

One final thought - KISS?????? Really?????? Will you guys please, PLEASE just go away already?! I'm begging you!


Updated to add: I just noticed that the title of this post referenced "Americal Idol." Whoops. It's fixed now.

Oh, snap!

If you're not already caught up, take a minute to scroll down and read the last two entries - that'll get you caught up in all the DUH-RAMA currently swirling through my family.



Okay! So, here's an email I received last night from Alabama, in reply to the email I sent her as seen in the last post:

"I actually suggested Texas call her, being something of a financial guru. I understand your concerns - that's why it was important to get everybody's input. Personally, I think that if Mom were in a position to make a decision, she would surely have helped Ditzy, as she would any of us. I don't think Ditzy thought "it was Mom's responsibility" - she was just asking for help, which, obviously, she is not going to get from this family."

OUCH! waaaaaaaa ........ I am cryyyyiiiinnnggggggg ..........

HahahahahaHAHA! NOT!

I think I'm just going to sit on this one for a day or so, and then gently suggest that if Alabama is so freaking worried about poor little Ditzy's finances, she should sit down, pull out her own checkbook, and write Ditzy a check out of her own money. Problem solved.

I'm pretty sure I just got uninvited to the family reunion. Cry me a river.

...... and Texas steps up to the plate

My awesome sister Texas has stepped into the big steaming pile of mess described below and suggested that Ditzy explore other financial recourse before raiding Mom's money.


And when I got a second email today from Alabama, suggesting that Texas and/or I call Ditzy (who has yet to be bothered to directly contact either of us) and discuss her options with her, well, I lost it just a little and replied to the email thusly:

"Wait a minute - I have heard absolutely nothing from Ditzy herself on this matter, and now I am supposed to call her and give her financial advice?!

She's a big girl - instead of raiding Mom's money, every penny of which Mom may end up needing, I suggest she discuss financial options with her banker and/or financial advisor.I find it interesting that, according to your earlier email, her boyfriend broke up with her just last weekend, and all of a sudden she's dead broke?! And somehow it's Mom's responsibility to bail her out and buy her a car?

I think not."


Oooooooh, now my life is starting to imitate my blog entries ...... wait a minute ........ I don't think it's supposed to work that way ........

Anyway, Texas, you rock! And I have a funny feeling that the family reunion planned for this summer may turn out to be really unpleasant - you may want to skip this one.

My family - providing excellent blog fodder since 2007

First off: I have four sisters - Alabama, Texas, TIB and Ditzy - and one brother, A.

E-mail received today from my sister Alabama:

"First some news - Ditzy's boyfriend (fiance) of 2-1/2 years unexpectedly broke up with her last weekend - she is devastated. To make it worse, he had encouraged her to rely on him (since they were getting married) financially. As you know, it is very difficult for her to work full time (which I believe, having several friends with the same condition she has), and she had quit her job. So, not only is she devastated, she's in a bad situation financially. Her car is also on its last legs.

Now, the request. Ditzy has asked to borrow $5,000.00 from her future inheritance (mom's money). I spoke with Dave Doe*, and he said it can be done, if we all agree. TIB, A. and myself are okay with it. I have reviewed mom's balance and her expenditures, and I don't believe this will cause any problem - there is plenty of money, even in the event a nursing home ever becomes necessary. We will keep track of the "loan", and reduce Ditzy's request by that amount.

Please let me know if you agree, and if so, I will email you a letter for your signature, which is what Dave Doe will need."


Internet, you decide! Should my answer be:

(A) Awwww, poor Ditzy! Sure, send me the paperwork and I'll sign it - and let's not be cheap! Give her ten grand, not five!

or

(B) What. the. fuck.

Are you fucking shitting me?

I was wondering when the carrion would start to circle, and now I know.

Ditzy's spent her entire adult life earning extra income on her back, and now that her latest Sugar Daddy's dumped her, Mom is supposed to support her?

That "condition" that you refer to, that caused her to quit her job, is called "Lazy-Ass". There's a reason that Social Security has denied her application for disability benefits time after time: It's because being lazy is NOT a disability for which the government will reimburse you. Oh, she can call it Mono, or Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, or Fibromyalgia, or whatever she's calling it this week, but the fact that she has plenty of energy for everything BUT work belies the claim.

Mom might be 84, but she's healthy as a horse, and she could live for another fifteen years. And yes, Dad did leave her some money, which should support her until she passes on, but who knows what tomorrow may bring? What if the money runs out before she does - is Ditzy gonna pay back the five grand? Yeah, I didn't think so. And mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer's almost ten years ago, and she barely knows who anybody even IS these days, so it's not like she can give informed consent, here. You could tell her she was giving 5 grand to Santa and she wouldn't know the damn difference.

And as far as Ditzy's boyfriend "encouraging her to rely on him" - what is this, the 1950s? For fuck's sake, she's fifty years old! I suggest she re-apply for that job she dumped before the Sugar Daddy dumped her. And let us not forget, Sugar Daddy proposed to her long ago, and she refused to marry him, although she sure did wave that big honkin' engagement ring around. Talk about free milk and a cow.


Oh, and her car's on the outs? Better do what everybody else in the free fucking world does when their car shits the bed - go to the bank and get a loan for another car. Don't worry, Ditzy, you can use the home you own as collateral.


And Ditzy, you'd better toddle back to match.com and start trolling the local church congretations (respectively, where you met your last two "boyfriends") for a new Sugar Daddy, because I'll be god damned if our mother is going to finance your ass.





So, what do you think, Internet? (A) or (B)?




*Dave Doe is the guy at the bank who handles mom's money.

Words

Words I love:

Ubiquitous

Serendipity

Antique

Naught


Words I don't love:

Tinfoil (arrgghbleeechh - it makes me think of biting down on it and getting that horrible shivery feeling)

Metastasize (both because of the implications and because I always mangle it when I try to say it)

Perky

Enate - This is a crossword-word meaning "related to on the mother's side". I've never seen it used in real life, and I don't like the sound of it.

Mic, when written as an abbreviation for "microphone". Technically, it's correct, but when I see it, I just think "mick". Why not write it as "mike", the way it sounds?

Enervate - It does not mean what it looks like it means, and for that, fie on you, enervate!


Word about which I am ambivalent:

Petulant (sounds nice, and ooogy, both at the same time)

Sanguine


How about you?

Who cares? I'll bet their kids do

Frankly, I don't give a rat's ass about Jon and Kate of the reality show "Jon and Kate Plus 8". I used to watch the show pretty regularly, and now once in a while I'll catch an episode, but that's about it.


Unfortunately, these two have been splashed all over the media lately, evidently both to pimp a new season of their series, and because there's possibly some trouble in paradise.


And you know what? I don't care. But I'll bet their kids do.



Dear Jon and Kate: STFU. Your kids, all eight of them, do not need to know that Mommy and Daddy may be about to split up. And that Daddy's dating a twenty-year-old. And that Mommy's banging the bodyguard. Oh, I know, you say that you keep that latest issue of People off the coffee table, and you never let them watch Inside Edition, but guess what? Their little friends know it all. And you'd better believe that thanks to their friends, your little kids now know every sordid detail, every little tasty bit that you've spilled to People, and Inside Edition, and Entertainment Weekly, and Us, and everybody else who'll pay you fifty cents for the "inside scoop."



Please shut up. For the sake of your kids, shut up.

Hands on hips

See that guy on top of the roof? That's the home inspector. He was trying to figure out what was wrong with the roof. Bottom line? Even though the shingles were in good shape, the plywood underneath had gotten wet and delaminated, causing it to swell and force its way up through the shingles. The inspector bounced up and down on his heels, demonstrating the sponginess of the plywood. It's not a good thing. Oh, and the underside of the plywood, in the attic crawlspace, has a nice sheeting of black mold. Sweet.

Oh, and it turns out that the roof members were undersized at the time of construction. At some point someone had sistered 2 x 4s to the rafters, but there is some doubt as to whether the main carry beam is also undersized. Basically, what that means is that one good snow load could take the whole thing down.

I am trying desperately to come up with a "the roof, the roof, the roof is on fire" joke here, but I'm not having any luck. Anybody have any ideas?

The interior mold is due to a combination of factors. The crawlspace took on water back in 2006, which was probably a main contributor, but the crawlspace also had standing water in it the day we were there, due to the fact that the lot slopes toward the crawlspace as opposed to away from it, meaning the lot will have to be re-graded to correct the situation. And, of course, all the mold-soaked sheetrock, panelling, cabinetry, etc., will have to be removed and replaced.

I'm beginning to wish I never saw this place!

So. We need to get a contractor in there, get an estimated cost of repairs (mucho dinero, peeps), and see if the sellers are willing to drop their price by that amount. *cough*

Frankly, the only reason I'm willing to go along right now is that there's nothing else currently on the market that I'm interested in, so I'm not losing any time by playing around in this mess. And it's a learning experience. Gag.

Well, at least I don't have to worry about getting rid of that wagon-wheel chandelier

The place is full of mold and the roof is shot.

Damn.

Here for now

The internet service here at the office has been going kerflooey, one computer at a time. Right now I've got access, but five minutes from now? Who knows.

In the meantime, I need to know how hard it actually is to use a manual push mower. I mean, do I need really strong arm muscles? I'll be (hopefully*) mowing a 70 x 140 lot - is that too much to do by hand?

Kitkat and Bridgett, I know you said they're great for small lots, but what about bigger ones?


*Tonight's the night. Inspection at 4 p.m. Pass or fail.

Is anybody still into vinyl?

Record albums, that is.

I've started sorting through my crap in anticipation of the Giant Yard Sale From Hell*, and I found a bunch of albums in a cabinet behind the couch.

Yeah, I need to clean more often.

Anyhow, I've got, like, a hundred record albums from the eighties. Styx, anyone? How about some nice Pat Benatar? Billy Joel?

I've got some older stuff that I may have inherited from my sister Ditzy - Rita Coolidge, Crosby, Stills & Nash, the Beatles, etc.

And I've even got some stuff that I'm pretty certain belonged to my Dad - Doc Severinsen, E. Power Biggs. (What? You've never heard of E. Power Biggs?! He was a famous organist!)

Some of the stuff is inexplicable - The Statler Brothers? Really? Tony Orlando and Dawn? And I thought Yma Sumac only existed in crossword puzzles.

There is some stuff that I simply cannot part with. The 1776 soundtrack, for one. Oh, and "Free to Be You and Me" - that was some revolutionary shit back when I was, like, ten.

Here's the thing - I know from my experience at other people's garage sales that people will actually flip through piles of old records - I'm not sure if anybody ever actually buys any, but I've seen creepy-looking middle-aged guys flipping through them - so there is hope. I guess I'll just put them in a pile, mark it 25 cents each, and see what happens.

And if a great big pile of record albums ends up at the thrift store after the yard sale, so be it.



*originally I was just going to cart everything over to the Sal Army, but I need to fund my lawn mower.

Would anyone like a wagon-wheel chandelier?

So! The first inspection is scheduled for Monday. Ka-ching! Time to open up my checkbook. Then my boss, a structural engineer, is going to take a look at it. The main thing I'm worried about is the roof, because even though it's only six years old, there's some serious wonkiness going on there, and I can't tell if it's a structural problem or just cosmetic. Here's what I'm talking about:




I'm fairly certain that roofs are not supposed to have waves in them. Looks like the roofers started drinking before they finished the job.


If the house passes inspection, then I officially apply for my mortgage, and the closing is scheduled for June 15, although realistically, I think it's probably going to be some time in July.


I have to say, even though I have run the numbers over and over and over, and I KNOW I can do this, financially, I am scared spitless. I don't think I have ever been so frightened in my life. What I am paying for housing is about to double, and again, even though the numbers work just fine, with contingencies built in and blah blah blah, I am scared to death. Is that normal, or is it just me?



And if anyone would like a lovely wagon-wheel chandelier,





come and get it! And take the wallpaper too, mkay?

Gobsmacked

They accepted my offer.

Looks like I'm gonna have to buy a lawn mower. And a fridge.

Ho-lee shit.

Time to man up

or,

Put up or shut up,


or,

Sh*t or get off the pot,

or,

Fish or cut bait,


or,

Time to put on my big girl undies



Pick your cliche. Last night, I wrote out a check for a thousand dollars in earnest money and put in an offer on the house I fell in love with. My mortgage guy was able to get me into a different loan program with a better rate, and I went in a little low with the offer, so it's do-able, moneywise. According to my realtor, they've got another offer, but there's a problem with the buyer's financing, so I might be able to sneak in on this one.



Hold me.

Weekend Weirdness

I looked at two houses this past weekend that were truly laughable. The owner of the one I looked at on Friday was so odd, I wouldn't have been surprised if circus clowns showed up. I mean, she already had the chihuahuas and the odd outfit; clowns would've fit right in. The house I looked at on Saturday, the lot was so steep the driveway had a freakin' switchback in it. *sigh*

The Runt got stung by a bumblebee. I didn't even know that bumblebees could sting; I thought it was just, like, yellowjackets and wasps that stung. Great; now I've got something else to worry about. (The Runt is fine; he took off running when it first happened, and then licked his paw for about half an hour. Poor guy.)

My Mom and I were walking in a local forest yesterday and stopped to take a break. Mom commented on all the dead leaves on the ground and I said something about how nobody rakes them up in the woods, and we speculated on what a job it would be to rake the forest. On our way out of the forest, a guy on a mountain bike passed us going into the woods carrying - I shit you not - a leaf rake. Whoooooooa.

I dreamed last night -

*whoosh* - that's the sound of the negative air created as everyone leaves the internet at once whenever someone mentions a dream they had -

ANYWAY, I dreamed last night that it was football season, and a chicken went thirty-four yards against the Bills for a touchdown. Which, given the way the Bills have played the last few years, is not really all that implausible.

Great moments in graffitti

When you walk in the woods a lot, you see a lot of abandoned cars. They're all older models - from the fifties, mostly. And it makes me wonder if they didn't have junkyards back then - I mean, why drive (or push) a car into the woods and abandon it when you can call the junkyard and not only will they come pick it up, they'll give you twenty bucks for your trouble. Maybe scrap metal wasn't worth anything back then; I don't know.


Anyway, I see a lot of cars like this one, which had been used for target practice.



And after the target practice, someone decided to add some graffitti:




Pew! Pew!Pew! You can almost hear the bullets whizz by.



That just cracks me up.

........ and then I transported a fish in the office coffeepot.

......... what? You think I'm kidding?








Thanks to Bridgett's brilliant idea, I was able to find a new home for Tattoo Molly with a co-worker. And actually, the coffeepot made a really excellent transporter - relatively stable base, with lid so the fish can't jump out. And if the Boss's coffee tastes a little funny? Oh well!

Easily Amused

One of my co-workers just informed me that the Boss had taken a soda of mine out of the communal fridge, taken a SWIG out of it (*shudder*), and put it back in the fridge.

At first I grabbed the soda and tossed it, but the co-worker said, "No! Leave him a note!" So, ala passiveaggressivenotes.com, I wrote a note saying, "This WAS my soda, jerk!!", taped it to the soda, and stuck the soda back in the fridge. Then ANOTHER co-worker said, "You should put something IN the soda - something gross - and stick it back in the fridge without a note."

We all laughed until we cried, because REALLY, what kind of a JERK takes a swig out of someone else's SODA?

Then I poured about a half a cup of salt into the soda and put it back in the fridge.

I was kind of wishing I had some battery acid or something, but then I'd be out of a job. And in jail.

now THIS is just creepy .......

I'm reading a newspaper article about the Gospel Music Association's recent Dove Awards*, and it says that Song of the Year went to "Give Me Your Eyes".

NO.

No, you cannot have my eyes. I AM USING THEM.

Jeeeez.




*what can I say? It's a slow day at work.

How many, how many, I wonder ...........

Seven hundred eighty.

If I had not stopped smoking on April 3, that's (approximately)how many cigarettes I would have smoked between then and now.

Yep, I was a pack-and-a-half a day gal. For damn close to thirty years. Shame, isn't it?

Cost savings so far? $139.10. In three and a half weeks, I've saved almost a hundred and forty bucks by not smoking.

The truth? It's hard. It's really, really, hard, STILL, and I have tears in my eyes a lot of the time. But all I can do is keep plugging away. I'm still clean. All I have to do is stay that way.

Chews Shoes

One (or possibly both) of the cats is destroying my shoes.

I've got one of those shoe-rack thingies in the bedroom, and the cat(s) are chewing the shit out of the toes of the shoes on the bottom rack. Well, except for the moccasins, which is kind of odd, because the moccasins are probably the only shoes on the entire rack that are made of something even vaguely resembling leather. (Yes, I own a pair of moccasins. SHUT UP.)

I've heard of puppies chewing shoes, but cats? I mean, they're almost a year old now, so it's not like they're teething.

A few nights ago, I woke to Little Girl trying to pry my mouthpiece out of my hand. Evidently I had taken it out in my sleep and was holding on to it in a desperate bid to keep it away from the cats; LG was methodically trying to pry my hand open with her paw. The Runt is the worst mouthpiece offender; he chewed one of my old ones to pieces.

I've got a fairy tiara thing hanging off a lamp in my living room, and the other night I caught The Runt chewing on the beads. I mean hard-core, CHOMP CHOMP CHOMP chewing on the beads.



Maybe I should just buy them some chewing gum and be done with it.

Bye-bye, orange platy

The last Orange Platy kicked the bucket this morning. I said good-bye, and I gave her a proper flusha-funeral.



To tell you the truth, I'm kind of "over" the whole fish tank thing - cleaning it does not rank high on my list of fun things to do. Now I have to decide whether to get another companion for Tattoo Molly, or just wait for Molly to kick it, and then stow the tank.



Decisions, decisions.

Evidently, not smoking has turned me into a raging bitch

Watch out, fellow tenants. The next one to turn that f*cking light off when I want it on is gonna get shanked.

You do not EVEN want to mess with me while I'm quitting smoking.

How to receive acknowledgment

Yesterday morning I sent my boss an email, the sole content of which was a link to the Wikipedia entry for Administrative Professionals Day.

Results?

A card, some cash, and a beautiful blue iris to plant in my garden.

Hell, whatever works.

Oh, this is just ALL KINDS of unfair

The New York Jets are going to be holding their summer training camp at SUNY Cortland this year. And the Great State of New York, led by the illustrious Governor Paterson, is contributing $410,000.00 in grants from a "discretionary fund" to upgrade facilities and help SUNY defer the costs of hosting the team.

The last I knew, the NFL was not a charity. I'm pretty sure the Jets can pay their own way. ALSO the last I knew, this state was in dire financial difficulties. Taxes are increasing, state jobs are going unfilled, and the STAR rebate program, which helped homeowners pay their school taxes, was cut entirely.

And yet the f*cking New York Jets are getting $410,000.00 for a training camp?!

I shoulda been a football player.

Oops! I crapped my pants!

Not really, but it sure looked like I did.

I went to the local nature preserve yesterday, planning on taking a nice, long walk. When I got there, I decided to check out the creek that runs through an adjacent town park before I hit the preserve. I checked out the creek, decided to cross the creek to access a trail on the other side, started stepping on stones in the creek to get across, and .........

God. dammit. Those were some slippery stones.

So now I'm in the creek, one boot full of water, and my butt firmly emplanted in the muddy clay bank. At some point I realized that I wasn't getting any drier sitting in the water, and managed to haul myself out. Now I have a choice to make. I can drive back home, change clothes, and drive back, losing valuable walking time, or I can say screw it and do the walk anyway, knowing that anybody who gets a rear view is going to think I pooped my pants.

I decided to walk anyway and chose some lesser-traveled trails, hoping to come across fewer people that way.

Ha! Everybody and their mother was at the preserve yesterday, including ......... wait for it ........ twenty-nine members of the local hiking club. Wheeee!

In the end (*heh*), I think only three people actually got a look at the damage, and I had a nice long philosophical conversation with myself about self-image. ("Who cares what other people think?" "But they think I pooped my pants!")

Next time, I think I'll just go home and change.

And THIS is why I can't afford a house ....

..... I bought this purse at the thrift store because I felt sorry for the animals on it.

I mean, seriously, the elephant looks like he's doing okay, except for the whole bullseye-eye thing, but those are some sad-looking ....... lions? jaguars? I'm not sure.

It's a tiny little purse, so as I looked at it in the thrift store, I thought, well, it's okay, some little girl will buy it and the ...... tigers? leopards?........ will go live with her and be happy, and then I'm all, NO, the little girl will play with the purse for a few days and then it'll end up under the bed or in a mud puddle and the ......... leopards? jaguars? ....... will be all sad again and OH MY GOD I have to give these animals a home and I'll hang it by a window so the ........ lions? tigers? ....... can look out the window and in the summer I'll put it out on the porch in the breeze and .......

It cost a buck-fifty. There went my house.

Keeee-rap

I looked at a house yesterday that I loved. LOVED. And I can't afford it.

I mean, technically I could afford it, and my finance guy is telling me I could afford it, but, realistically? I can't afford it.

I walked through this house, thinking, I love this house, I love this house, I LOVE this house, and then I got back to the office, emailed the numbers to my finance guy, he emailed me back a number, and ......... crap.

And I tell myself, "it's okay, nothing's changed, it's just one house, blah blah blah, shake it off", and I swear, I'm starting feel like stinkin' Job here or something, and then I had to take The Runt back to the vet last night and he still has the ear infection which means new meds and more money and ........

whoops. I'll stop now. Sorry about that.

On the bright side, my hyacinths and daffodils are blooming. The neighbor's forsythia is getting ready to pop. And it is Friday, so there's that. Whoopee!

Whaaaaaa?

Anybody else get one of these? -

"Dear Account User, This Email is from Yahoo Customer Care and we are sending it to every Yahoo Email User Accounts Owner for safetyWe are having congestions due to the anonymous registration of Yahoo accounts so we are shutting down some Yahoo accounts and your account was among those to be deleted.We are sending you this email to so that you can verify and let us know if you still want to use this account.If you are still interested please confirm your account by filling the space below.Your User name,password,secret question,secret answer,date of birth and your country information would be needed to verify your account. Due to the congestion in all Yahoo users and removal of all unused Accounts, Yahoo will be shutting down all unused Accounts, You will have to confirm your E-mail by filling out your Login Information below after clicking the reply button, or your account will be suspended within 24 hours for security reasons. * YOUR NAME: *USER NAME:*E-MAIL ID: *PASSWORD: *VERIFY PASSWORD: *SECRET QUESTION:*SECRET ANSWER:*ALTERNATE EMAIL ADDRESS: *DATE OF BIRTH: *COUNTRY/TERRITORY: Warning!!! Account owner that refuses to update his/her account after two weeks of receiving this warning will lose his or her account permanently. We apologize. Yahoo Account Service Team Admin.... "


Oh, COME ON. Put some EFFORT into it, spammers.

American Idol

So, last night's guest mentor was .......... Quentin Tarantino? WTF?

Oh, well, after all, he did have that hugely successful singing career ........

Seriously, WTF?

I mean, okay, it's movie night, but ....... I thought the mentors were supposed to give the contestants SINGING tips ......

I mean, Quentin tried, which was actually pretty hilarious. So, props for the extra added entertainment value.

(More) thoughts on (not) smoking

I guess I'm doin it rong, because it's a week and a half in, and it's not really getting any easier. I'm surprised at how persistent this little addiction is. It's pissing me off that I can't just get over this already, and it makes me feel weak, and then I get angry. Arrrrgggghhh!

The one thing I really miss is having an ashtray around in which to deposit the crud I pick off the carpet. Oh, sweet Jeebus, I can't believe I just told you guys that, but you know what I'm talking about here, right? You're sitting there watching TV or whatever, and you look down and notice a little bit of fuzz or something on the carpet. I used to pick those up and put 'em in the ashtray, but now I have to cart them all. the. way. to the garbage can under the kitchen sink, which seems like waaaay too much trouble for a little piece of fuzz, and honestly? Sometimes the fuzz ends up in my pocket. Of course, god forbid I actually RUN THE VACUUM. (For one piece of fuzz? Seriously? Naaaahh.)

I don't think my boss wants me to quit. Twice now he's left a cigarette on my desk (which he NEVER did when I was smoking), and the other day, I had to go to the bank, and he asked me to stop at the smoke shop and pick him up a couple of packs. (To their credit, my co-workers actually burst out laughing when he had the nerve to pull that little gem.)

Since I quit, there are approximately 360 cigarettes out there right now that I would have smoked, but I haven't.

I. AM. TRYING. IS. HARD.

Fool me once, shame on you

So! I watched the Eiffel Tower show the other night. And it was just an elaborate April Fool's joke, obv. I mean, they treated the subject dead seriously, but I was laughing my ass off throughout because it was just so reeedeeeeculous. These poor gals were building scale models of their objects of lust, and when two of them went to NYC and got overwhelmed by the sheer number of skyscrapers, well, ..............

It WAS a joke, right?

But then again, at the end of the show, they showed a teaser for an upcoming program, "My Car Is My Lover." Oh ...........

Oh, Hell, No

There was a memorial service here last Friday for the victims of April 3's massacre. Prayers were said, and tulips were planted at a local park in memory of the victims.

14 tulips.

There's only one problem. 14 people died on April 3, but only 13 were victims. The 14th was the gunman.

I'm sorry, Mr. Rat Bastard Cowardly Gunman, but you don't get a tulip, you fucker.

Local clergy are defending the 14 tulips. "We believe in forgiveness", said the Rev. Willfred Guillaume. "He's a victim, too."

No. No, he's not.

Human Kindness

When I got home from work last night, there was a package at my door. I hadn't ordered anything recently and I wasn't sure what it could be. When I picked it up, I saw that the return address was Danger's.

She had read about my grim week and took the time out of her own busy life (congrats on the new job!) to send me a care package.







Cookies, rockin' coffee cake and crayons! Along with a beautiful note.


And you know what? I broke down and cried. And then I smiled. And then I laughed. And then I ate some cookies and cake.


Thanks, Danger. You're what it's all about.

BBC America, I Love You

I never watched much BBC America, except for an occasional Ab Fab episode back in the day. But against my better instincts, last night I watched a couple more episodes of How Clean is Your House (this one lady was quite proud of the fact that she hadn't cleaned her house for fourteen years), during which they were showing a teaser for a show called "Married to the Eiffel Tower."



!!!!!!



Now, the show about the people who treat their baby dolls as real was odd enough. But according to my TV guide, the Eiffel Tower show is about something called "objectum sexual." (Am I about to google that? Ohhhhh, you betcha .............. WAIT! Here we go! Want a taste? Direct from Wikipedia: "The term was coined in the 1970s by a woman named Eija-Riitta Eklöf Berliner-Mauer from Liden, Sweden, who was married to the Berlin Wall." Holy. Shit.)



Anyway, my favorite part of the ad is when they show someone saying, "She'll never know what it's like to love a human being." *cough*



Oh, it is SO ON. 9 p.m. tonight. I'm SO there.

Oh No

Maddie Spohr has passed away.

Finally!

I have cats who can make their own damn dinner ......

....... and do the dishes afterward!

Sweet!

(and no, they are NOT allowed on the countertops. You can see how well that's working out ....)

Some thoughts on (not) smoking

Bear with me here, folks. It's been a tough few days.

Even though I prepared myself for this, even though I read and read and read about what would be happening, I was not prepared for how ....... fragile ...... I would feel.

I suppose it doesn't help that I chose as my "quit day" possibly one of the worst days ever to try to quit smoking, but then again, any day would have been a tough day.

I was surprised at how little actual physical "withdrawal" there was, and absolutely amazed at how strong a hold psychologically the addiction has on me. I think about smoking every. single. second I am awake. I counter those feelings by reciting (in my head) the facts, but still, it's exhausting. I just want to think about something else for a while.

The book "The Easy Way to Stop Smoking" by Allen Carr is the only reason I've made it this far. No, it's not "easy", but it is "do-able" (I hope), and I really recommend this book if you're trying to quit.

Fragile. That's how I feel.

... it's the one little detail .....

....... the one little thing that reduces me to tears every time I think about it .....

......before he drove to the Civic Association, before he blocked the rear exit door with his car, before he walked around to the front, walked inside, and started shooting ........

........that rat fucking bastard put on a bullet-proof vest.

I don't know what to say

Parveen Ali, 26
Almir Alves, 43
Marc Henry Bernard, 44
Maria Sonia Bernard, 46
Li Guo, 47
Lan Ho, 39
Layla Khalil, 57
Roberta King, 72
Jiang Ling, 22
Hong Xiu Mao (Marsland), 35
Dolores Yigal, 53
Hai Hong Zhong, 54
Maria Zobniw, 60

In My Little Town......

Right now, there is a hostage situation.

A gunman stormed the local offices of the American Civic Association (approx. two miles from where I am), shot four people, and took twenty others hostage. Another fifteen people in the building are hiding in a storage closet, using their cell phones to talk to the police.

Looks like I picked a hell of a day to quit smoking.


Updated to add: Now the story's gone national:

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090403/ap_on_re_us/hostage_shooting

Twice the cat he used to be

Now I'm really confused. A while ago, I had weighed The Runt at home and got a weight of 10.4 lbs. Two weeks ago, when I took him to the vet, they said he weighed 6.3 lbs (which I sincerely doubted, since he felt like he had more heft than that when I picked him up).

He had to go back to the vet's last night, and this time, they got a weight of 9.7 lbs. Whaaa? I had assumed it was my scale that was off, but now I'm pretty sure that it was the vet's.

Oh, and he's still got the damn ear infection.